I Wish
by Pashleyy
Summary: She looked at the well. She looked at Oliver. She smiled, leaned over the well, and wished.
1. Once Upon an Epilogue

Do you know how hard it is to find 'A Well-Timed Enchantment' by Vivan Vande Velde fanfiction? _Extremely_, it seems. So, I asked myself in a fit of rage "Why don't you write one, good old Pash?"

And do you know how I replied? "Because it's absurd! (as was the book's end!). . . By Joe, I'll do it!"

Thus, out of great boredom and an unwavering love for the book, I crafted a short oneshot that --- if wanted --- might evolve into a full-fledged fanfiction. Who knows? (_EDIT_: Who knows is right. It's no oneshot anymore!)

So, in loving admiration of the characters, Oliver and Deanna, and not the foot-stomping, page-tearing, cry-like-your-dog-bit-you-in-the-buttocks ending, I present to you _I Wish_.

Enjoy!

(_Italics_ are quotes from the book, and belong strictly to Vivian Vande Velde)

_

* * *

_

I Wish  
_Chapter 1_  
Once Upon an Epilogue

_She looked at the well.  
_

_She looked at Oliver.  
_

_She smiled.  
_

_Then again, she thought, what could she do but cross her fingers and hope for the best?  
_

_She leaned over the well and wished._

Wishing, it turned out, could have its downtime.

The well, having gurgled and burped after her words echoed into its belly, began to boil. It boiled angrily and, from the depths of the darkness, came the shimmering light of clear, fluorescent water. Deanna edged away. Oliver hissed and spat, scurrying further and further from the enchanted well.

Deanna finally admitted he had more sense than she. At least he knew trouble when it bubbled up from a well.

Water dribbled from the rim of the ancient well. Oliver screeched a yowl and turned, and high-tailed it through the grassy farmland. Deanna, about to follow, stopped herself at the first sounds of that strange music, and further away, the black cat stopped as well.

"Are humans so hard-headed?"

Deanna spun to the well, and to the hip elf who leaned against the overflowing well, his clothes somehow --- beyond all logic --- weren't wet. Anger suddenly burst through her veins, and a twinge of boiling hate. "_You_!"

"Who else?" he asked. He picked at his orange shirt, the logo now a snide Nike check. "And about that wish . . ."

"What about it?" she demanded, headstrong.

"It's odd," he remarked.

"Odd or not," she rebuked, "I wished it."

"But does _he_?" the elf trailed his eyes to the black dot in the background, the cat who had paused halfway through the fields only to stop and watch them with green gleaming eyes.

For a moment, they both watched the cat quietly, and then with impatience, the elf cupped his hands over his mouth to form a megaphone and shouted, "Eh, _cat_? Is it what _you_ want?"

To answer, the black cat swished his tail and sat down, facing them, prodding them with thoughtful green eyes.

"Guess not," the elf shrugged. "Too bad, girl, he has to wish it too, you know. You can't wish for _other_ people. That wouldn't be right." And, without a word, he hopped onto the bubbling well again and swung his legs over.

"No --- wait!" she grabbed him by the forearm and squeezed tightly, determined with all her might not to let the same thing happened again. This time, she wouldn't be tongue-stuck and stupid. This time he would listen to her. Him and the other elf, wherever he may be. "I _won't_ let you! He told me he didn't want to . . ." she gulped, afraid her words weren't convincing enough as that scene played thoughtlessly through her mind over and over. That one moment that would haunt her forever if she didn't help Oliver.

_"Oliver," she said, shaking him. "What is it?" And, oh how this hurt: "You're a cat."  
_

_"I know that," he rested his chin on his arms.  
_

_"Do you want to talk about it?"  
_

_"No, I don't want to talk about it." But then, very softly, he said, "I don't want to go back."  
_

_"To Chalon?"  
_

_"To being a cat."_

She closed her eyes tightly and dug her nails into the elf's forearm until he, in turn, yelped. "He told me didn't want to be a cat again," she finally sputtered out. "He said so himself."

The elf yanked his arm away and rubbed the fingernail indentions sourly. "Is he here to say it now?"

Deanna turned back to the cat, who had stood again and was slowly inching towards them, ears bent to his head, tail low and alert. "No."

"Then there we are. Too bad, so sad." And with that, he swooped his legs over the well's side and disappeared.

"No!" she cried and attempted to jump in herself, but Oliver latched onto her ankle and tripped her halfway over the well. She fell back to the dusty earth with a loud _thud_, and a screaming yowl from Oliver. She had landed on his tail. "No . . ."

Seemed like crossing fingers and hoping for the best wasn't the brightest alternative.

It actually seemed to mock her.

_"Do you think I can go back after this? Be happy with what I was: rubbing against people's legs for attention, coughing up hairballs, eating mice in the barn? After this? Or won't I even remember? Will it be as though I never existed?"  
_

_That, in another form, was what the fair folk had predicted for her. She shook her head. "I don't know."  
_

_"I wish we'd never found it. I wish we could have stayed like this forever." _

And for the first time since he had said those words, she wished the exact same. That they could have stayed like that forever.

She sat up and, upon finding Oliver, picked him up and tucked him close to her chest. "I wish . . ."

And he, for the first time since she had saved him from the neighbor's dog, he began to purr. It was low and deep, and singsong, as if he hummed to calm her coming tears. _If only_, it were as if he was saying. _If only_.

Yes, indeed. If only.

As he nuzzled her hand, his purr loud and warming, she stroked his head and wondered, absently, if he even remembered being human. If he remembered watching a joust, being the crush of Lady Marguerite, learning swordsmanship from Sir Henri. If he remembered getting sick after eating mice in the gardens, and tasting his first humans foods. If he remembered Algernon's tower room, or Baylen's plan to capture their watch. And, secretly, she wondered if he remembered her as an idiot, as a friend, or as something a little more.

"I'm so sorry," she told him in a whisper, and hugged him tightly. "I love you, too."

Oliver flickered his green eyes upon her, that unreadable deepness swirling inside. Just once, like now, she'd like to know what went on behind those eyes. Just once.

"You know . . ."

Deanna shot head up to find the two elves leaning over the well, dry as a whistle despite the water dribbling onto poor Deanna from their movements, and inevitable poor Oliver. He hissed and clawed to get away.

" . . . it'd be interesting though, to see how the human race would find a cat in human clothes." The one in shimmering silver snapped his fingers.

* * *

_Shall I continue?_


	2. Forget Me Not

Wow... this is amazing! I never thought a little old story like this would get recognition like this! It's totally fab!! Thanks everyone! So, I reckon I finally have this baby all plotted out, and I guess I'll be embarking now. Will y'all stay with me through the journey? I hope so!

Bon voyage, dear readers!

* * *

I Wish**  
**_Chapter 2  
_Forget-Me-Not

The elf's snap echoed through the grassy French fields. Across the meadows and into the barn. Into the little cottages where families sat around the dinner table eating lamb and croissants and delicate chocolates. It even echoed all the way to the neighboring house, and to the dogs who yipped and whined, dashing away from the quaint and quiet meadow as fast as their stumpy legs would take them.

If Oliver had any mind at all, he would've laughed at them.

Instead, Oliver knelt atop of Deanna, eyes wide, body quivering from the sudden whimsy of magic. His hands were pinned on either side of her head, clawed into the ground, his knees anchored down on either side of her hips. If anyone would've come waltzing by, they would've thought Deanna and he were two promiscuous teenagers having a romp beside an overflowing well.

They didn't know that the cat-turned-human had been too much weight for poor Deanna, and that the position in which they had toppled was most unfortunate.

Deanna stared into Oliver's inky green eyes, and felt her cheeks burn red. "O-Oliver?"

For a moment, he recognized her, and then he cocked his head and asked, "Yes?"

"Could you please...get off?" she strained her eyes to see if the elf was still there, but he wasn't. He had long gone. In the distance, the dogs began coming back in force, their yips growing closer with each second.

If Oliver still had hair over his body, they would have rose with the most ferocious hiss any human could ever give. It sounded quite feral.

"O-Oliver," Deanna tried a bit louder, but Oliver ignored her, and hunkered down, eyes glowering beyond her.

Thundering paws lit the ground, and suddenly the neighborhood Shitzu yapped just on the other side of the fence. Oliver hissed, and raised his hand, bent inward in a paw-like motion, and suddenly froze. He realized. Silently, he drew his hand in front of him. Deanna watched as his face went from confusion, to surprise, to curiosity, and finally to horror. He gasped and reeled back.

"What did you do to me?" he shouted, stumbling to his feet, and promptly fell when his legs twisted about. "I'm _human_!"

"Yeah, you are," Deanna replied. "You wanted to be, remember?"

Oliver felt down his legs in horror, and suddenly gave a cry of realization. "I don't have a tail!"

"Nor paws or fur or --"

"What are these?" he tore at his shirt (a green _Auf Weitersen_ t-shirt), and blue jeans, and clawed to get the shoes off his feet. He managed one, and forgot about the other. "Change me back!" he yelled at her. "Change me back!"

Deanna froze at the ice in his voice. She began to realize, too, just what the Elf had done.

"CHANGE ME BACK!" he fiercely yelled, picked up his begotten shoe, and hurtled it at her. It knicked her on the shoulder, and she winced. "YOU WITCH! CHANGE ME BACK!"

Deanna didn't know what to do. Tears welled in her eyes.

When she didn't respond, he stood on his feet again, managing better this time, and glowered at her with hateful green eyes. If his vision was filled with red fury, he might have noticed Deanna and the lost look on her face. And he might have came to. But he didn't, and instead hatred burned in the center of his gut, and fueled the hatred that made his eyes gleam. It was all to easy for Deanna to read them, suddenly, and she wished she couldn't. He stormed towards her, took her by the shoulders, and shook her one good time. "Change me back!" he pleaded. "Please. _Please _change me back!"

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered. They locked gazes. She stifled a sob. His grip slackened.

Something shifted behind glorious green eyes.

Something glowed. Something clicked. And suddenly overwhelmed him. Slowly, his face slacked as his eyes grew distant, filled with things from another time. "Deanna," he breathed, and collapsed onto the soft green grass.

The dogs barked across the fence, and whined.

Numbly, Deanna fell to her knees, and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. He didn't stir. Her mind was a blur. He didn't recognize her. He didn't know her. It were as their adventure never happened, as if his memory had been wiped clean...

...He had forgotten her.

And it hurt. The butterflies in her stomach became lead, and died.

"But he knew my name," she told herself. "He saw me. Oh Oliver, I'm so sorry." Then, furiously, she rose to her feet and kicked the well for good measure and spit into it. "Stupid elves!" she roared, and her voice echoed back up to her. The water was slowly draining down, down, into the darkness, and the Elves did not reply.

Oliver groaned, and Deanna was at his side once again. She didn't know what to do. Take him home? "Look what I brought home today, Mom!" she'd say. _Oh yes, that'll work splendidly,_ she thought bitterly, and bit her thumbnail nervously. Her mother would be more alarmed about his ears than the boy himself. And for what costume party. And why they looked so real.

"Funny, elves," she whispered and touched Oliver's still-cat ears. There felt almost velvety, and blended with his inky black hair. "Very funny."

_"Indeed,"_ whispered the wind. _"So he won't forget."_ Mockingly. Teasingly. The wind laughed away, and left Deanna alone with an Oliver who didn't remember that he had ever loved such a girl as she.

* * *

_Continue or No?  
_

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	3. The Elves Bet on Starbucks

Well, Chapter 3 is here and ready! I'm really beginning to love the elves. They're so meddlesome, but they help fill the plot holes so well! Mrs. Vivian Vande Velde did well when she made them. I have to wonder why there aren't many stories about them... oh wait. There aren't any _A Well-Timed Enchantment_ fanfictions in the first place! Well, besides this lonely little bugger drifting in a sea of _Dragon's Bait_ and _Companions of the Night_ fanfictions.

Well, here's the next installment! Forgive the Elves for meddling. They know not what they do.

Oh, and those who don't know what an OTP is... UrbanDictionary(dot)com is your place to be!

* * *

I Wish**  
**_Chapter 3  
_The Elves Bet on Starbucks

The first thing Deanna needed was a wheelbarrow. She had already tried heaving unconscious Oliver onto her back, and even tried leaning him against her, but she realized that movies made things a lot easier than real life, and she was too weak to carry Oliver at all. He weighed more than her, that was a safe estimate, and he was taller than her too. She always knew it, but she had never realized it—especially not in Medieval Europe. Now she was all too aware of the extra six inches he had on her. He was thin and wiry, and she couldn't help but think that _If I was the damsel, carrying me wouldn't be a problem!_

But, alas, the elves hated her. A lot.

So she was off to find a wheelbarrow, and then explain to her mother why she brought home an unconscious young man, and why that said man had cat ears. _Oh, mom, it's the hot new craze in Paris!_ As if she'd believe that. There was a wheelbarrow out back behind her Aunt's barn, and that was her destination. She propped Oliver up beside the well and muttered, "Don't go anywhere, OK?"

Of course, he didn't answer.

"Right." She quickly hurried down the grassy knoll to the faded red barn in the distance, and fought her way past the brambles and weeds to the rusted wheelbarrow. Heaving the wheelbarrow upright, spiders and dirt tumbled from it. She yelped in fright. Then she realized how silly that was. There were far worse things in the wizard Algernon's tower. "OK, they're just spiders. Nothing too horrible. Do it for Oliver. Remember him."

_When he didn't remember you?_ Came her own discoursed reply.

She hit the side of her head to knock the thought away, grabbed the wheelbarrow without a second glance, and pushed it up the hill towards Oliver again. No need to doubt herself—or Oliver. He had remembered, after all. In the end he had remembered. At least she thought he did. _You did the right thing_, she told herself. _He wanted you to._

_ Didn't he?  
_

When she rolled up to the well, Oliver wasn't there.

"Oliver?" she squeaked, dropping the wheelbarrow. "Oliver?!"

Oliver, it seemed, was nowhere to be found.

"Oh God, I lost him already!" She flew down the hill again in a panic, calling his name again and again. The wheelbarrow was forgotten up beside the well, as were the two elves who just happened to have peaked their heads up from the murky water as she fled away. They prided themselves with perfect timing.

The first one put his hands on his cheek and sighed, "Oh, love is in the air!"

"Love? What love's here?" his older brother—the one in the ancient robes—asked. "Love is running away."

"Love is running _after_ the one running away," the young, hipper one pointed out.

"I don't believe it."

The hip one scoffed and flipped back his hair. "Then I'll bet you. You will buy me a grande mocha latte from Starbucks if Deanna and Oliver are an OTP by the end of all this."

His brother blinked, confused. Most of the words had sailed right over his head, and his younger brother knew it. He understood the words mocha latte and Starbucks because his brother raged about it like he did about Coca-Cola, but an OTP? Was that an acronym for an STD?

From the green meadow beyond, where a little white house sat beside a faded green barn, Deanna's echoes of "OLIVER? OLIVER!" rang through the countryside. "OLIVER! WHERE ARE YOU?"  
The elder thought it over, and finally outstretched a hand. "And if _I_ win, then you will return to wearing the official ceremonial garb."

His younger brother scowled. "You're joking."

"Not at all."

"OLIVER!" Deanna cried, almost to the brink of tears. "OLIVER! WHERE ARE YOU?" The little blob of blonde rushed across the field, looking every-which-way for the black-haired youth. He was no where to be seen. Finally, she stopped at the top of a neighboring hill where a single enormous tree stood, and plopped down on the soft grass.

It looked hopeless already. So the elder held out his hand to shake, and agreed. "The bet is on, brother."

They shook.

"What are the rules?"

The younger grinned. "What rules? This is an all-you-can-eat buffet, my brother! Off we go!" He sunk back into the well before his brother could protest, and disappeared with a soft pop.

The elder sighed. "Alls fair in love and war," he quoted to no one, and summoned up a smoked turkey leg, and proceeded to watch his deal being won.

Deanna shoved the palm of her hand into her eye. She told herself she wouldn't cry. At first, she was angry with Oliver—but how could she be? How could she ever be so angry with Oliver that she wanted to castrate him? Unless, of course, he ran away from her. Like he just had. But she couldn't find the energy to be angry, and ended up in a huff of sadness under the neighbor's oak tree. She sniffed, and proceeded to tell herself not to cry. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't.

She most certainly was beginning to.

And then she heard a snap—a twig. Leaves reigned from the tree, and something shifted above her.

Slowly, she looked up.

"…Oliver?"

To her surprise, there he was, squatting on one of the lower tree limbs, perfectly hidden from view. The shade made his eyes gleam like a feral cat, and she couldn't help but to shiver. It was a horrid look, like those big tigers give tourists at the zoo. A predator look—not unlike the look she had seen wild men in New York City wear with a gun in one pocket, a switchblade in the other, and bad intentions down below.

_Oliver wouldn't do that.  
_

But she realized now that Oliver was a man. _You're silly, Deanna. You're being paranoid. Oliver isn't like other guys. _

_He won't let you down._

"Oliver," she spoke hesitantly, "why didn't you answer?"

He opened his mouth to answer, "There's—" then there was a _snap_. It echoed. He blinked, and looked around.

"Huh, Oliver?"

He tilted his head. "Oliver?" he murmured. "Who's that?"

Somewhere on the next green knoll, the elf grinned, lowered his hand, and tore into his smoked turkey leg with satisfaction.

Deanna paled. "What?"

In the distance, a dog barked. The trampling of paws began coming closer, followed by howls and the grunts of canines. She slowly turned, and remembered the Rottweiler that lived at the next house, teeth bared. Behind him the little shit dogs fell into formation, and they were coming like the Hounds of the Baskervilles. Her eyes widened.

Above her, Oliver gave an inhuman growl that rumbled his chest like thunder.

The dogs were so close. They jumped.

She stumbled back, pressing her back against the trunk of the tree, and screamed.

_

* * *

Continue or No?_


End file.
